


Mud in Your Veins

by RocketRabbits



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Brief concussions, Farmer is a grouchy fisherman, Ive been working on this for months and here we are, Lots of shanties because i love them, M/M, Merman! Elliott, Paganism but its weirdly defined since the religion in SDV is already so pagan, Sappy, The Wizard, merman au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22025353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RocketRabbits/pseuds/RocketRabbits
Summary: There's something (someone?) stealing the fish off of Rever's offering plate, and they've got the prettiest eyes he's ever seen.
Relationships: Elliott (Stardew Valley)/Original Male Character(s), Elliott/Male Player (Stardew Valley)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 112





	Mud in Your Veins

**Author's Note:**

> For my partner, who asked for constant updates  
> And for my friend Kyrie, who first told me she had mud in her veins. 
> 
> I'm just a gay that's been working on this for months and wants to kiss Elliott. Enjoy.

Rever inherits a farm when his grandfather dies, and it sits untouched in the valley for years. When he moves in, he pulls the brambles away from a faded wooden sign, "ARC EN CIEL FARM" carved delicately into it, probably by hand. It's a farm on the river with sizeable islands and little rotting foot bridges that he follows all the way down and out to the forest. It's a beautiful farm, to be sure. He sets up a shrine for his grandfather on the westernmost island, and then, he goes fishing.

Rever makes friends with almost none of the townsfolk, save the hermit by the lake and the fisherman at the pier. He likes the quiet they bring with them, the company while he fishes. Willy and Linus don't ask anything of him. Rever likes not having the responsibility.

Rever catches a lot through spring. He's thankful for every fish, donates the ones he can to the community center and sends the best of his crop to market. He sets up an altar at the edge of the water near his shipping crate and leaves the best of his saved catches there. Maybe it’s dishonest, not being the best of the best, but ocean deities, he figures, will forgive him.

One night near the end of spring when he stumbles home from foraging at one forty am, someone sits at his altar, their torso hanging out of the water and back end hidden. They startle when they see him, diving back into the river with the fish in their mouth. He's tired, he guesses, so he blinks away the sleep in his eyes and trudges inside, resigned to dealing with it in the morning.

There's a pattern imprinted in the sand like scales the next morning. It's weird, Rever guesses, but if someone took his fish, the deities must not be too upset with him. He heads down to the pier.

"Someone at my farm last night," he huffs to Willy, "some punk, I reckon, stole my offering right off my altar."

"What'd he look like?"

"Didn't get a good look at 'em in the dark. Long hair, though. Startled easily. Ain't gonna mind it none, but I do wonder who's swimmin' up those shallow rivers at two in the morning."

"Kids around here," Willy grumbles. "Prob'ly Pierre's girl."

"Dunno who that is," Rever says, "But if I find her, I'll warn her."

When he walks home that evening, Rever almost swears he catches ribbons of long brown hair bob in the water beside him, but that, he guesses, is probably just the sunset. He leaves the best of his seashells and the best of his fish at the altar. He can deal without the extra few gold coins.

Every day through the end of Spring, Rever goes to bed with the best of his fish lying on the altar near the river, and every morning he wakes up with an empty plate. Offerings, in his faith, had never before been a physical thing. They'd been symbolic, mostly, a way to stay more or less humble in the face of a bountiful catch. Nobody was ever supposed to take the things.

Things do seem a little different, in the valley. Willy warns against the ocean folk, there's a wizard on the end of town, and as far as he can tell nobody else can see the creatures helping him rebuild the community center. No way are local kids the ones stealing his offerings. Maybe Yoba's a tangible thing, a knowable entity, here in Pelican town.

If so, Rever isn't sure he wants to know them.

For a couple of days, Rever watches the altar closely until he falls asleep by the window. He doesn't want to meet Yoba, maybe, but he does want to see them. On the fourth day of waking up with a sizeable glass mark on his forehead, he packs a day's worth of water and food, and finds a decent spot to fish on the central island.

He waits.

He waits and waits and waits and catches so many fish he won't have to fish again for a week, even though he's going to, and as his watch ticks closer to twelve he considers packing up. He sighs, looking over his fish to see which he'd best leave out, when someone peaks their head over the cattails, eyes glimmering.

"Hey!" Rever calls. "Hey! Are you the one takin' my fish?"

The person's eyes widen and they dive back into the river. Rever drops his fishing pole and scrambles off the bank, chasing them out past the edge of his property, where the river ends and the pond begins. They leap between the two, over the yard or so of grass in between. He sees, now, why they're always in the river- their tail is a beautiful, shimmering red. "Wait!" He yells, "Ain't gonna- just wanna know who you are!"

They're gone, he's sure, waiting at the bottom of the pond for him to leave, so he sighs and trudges back to the farm where his fish are. Rever leaves one where they met, himself and the fish person, and sets his best back up at the altar. If that was Yoba, he guesses, he should try to stay in their good graces.

It rains on the third day of summer, so he stays inside to budget for seeds and toy around with the idea of expanding his mechanics. Those can wait, he guesses, more tappers and preserves jars and a shed, until winter. He can afford what he needs, especially if he goes back to sacrificing the second-best of his catches, which he realises with murmured expletives he neglected to put out for the day.

He scrambles out to the ice box, his hair sticking to his forehead with every cold, wet, plop, for a good fish to leave on his altar, and when he finds one he goes to fix it up on the table where it sits for less than a minute before a hand reaches out to snatch it away. Rever is faster, and he curls his own fingers around their wrist tightly.

 _Fair_ , he thinks as he's pulled into the water.

Rever struggles against their shaking and thrashing beneath the waves, and slides his fingers against slick skin to tug tightly at their hand, and not their wrist. with great force, he breaches the surface and stays above, pulling his captive along with him. "Ain't gonna hurt you!" he coughs against the water. "Understand? Ain't a danger! Just wanted to know who was stealin' my fish."

The first thing Rever notices, now that he's up close, is this merman's eyes. They're striking against the darkness around the pair of them, and trained threateningly on Rever.

"You left them out here," he hisses defensively. "I thought they were gifts."

"They are," Rever says, trying to make out more of him in the dark. His voice is low and rich, his jaw sharp. "They're gifts for Yoba. That you?" He pauses, caught on the memory of his red tail, his glowing green eyes. “Look like you could be.”

The merman hisses, "You can't flirt like that with someone you've trapped."

"Ain't flirtin'," Rever grumbles. "Fish ain't yours, not the stuff I leave up on that table. If you asked I'd've given you some, easy." He lets the merman’s hand fall back into the water. "Ain't tryin'a spook ya. Wasn't the other day, either. Thought you were just some punk from around town. Nobody warned me there'd be merpeople.”

The merman snorts. "No, of course not. Why would they? I'm truly sorry I stole your fish. Genuinely, I thought they were gifts. They're always so beautiful."

"Can bring you some, if you want," Rever says, " Seems to me, what with those teeth, you could catch yourself some damn fine fish.”

"I could," he says, and he's grinning as he says it. Show off. "I don't taste ocean fish often, though."

"Ain't you from the ocean?"

The merman scoffs. "Can't you tell?" Rever couldn't. "I’m freshwater. I couldn't survive out here if I weren't."

"Well the rivers you're livin' in are on my farm," Rever says, "an' you can hunt out here, if you wanna. You’ve surely been here longer. You got a family?"

"How invasive."

"Only askin' to know if I can make a livin' outta these waters, too."

"Oh," the merman says, and he flushes. "No. It's only me."

Rever raises his hand out of the water, not quite waving. "Let's start over, yeah? Reckon we've both been stressed about all this. I'm Rever. Don't often meet mermen."

“You wouldn’t,” the merman says.“I’m Elliott. Please don’t grab me like that ever again.”

“ 'M sorry,” Rever says, pushing himself backwards in the water, “Shouldn’t have. Won’t happen again. Do you want me to leave you ocean fish, when I have them? I’m up at the lake, mostly. Couldn’t tell you if that’s got the same fish as the pond.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Elliott says. “If you're offering."

"I'm offerin'," Rever says. "Least I can do for scarin' you like that." Rever moves to wipe his nose on his thumb, twisting his face at the prune of his skin. "Gotta get outta this water. Nice to meet you, Elliott. Please leave my altar dressin’ alone."

He hoists himself onto the bank and scrambles up the soil to the front of his cabin. By the time he looks back toward the river, Elliott and his glittering eyes are gone.

Rever strips his soaked layers and towel-dries his hair before ruffling around in his cabinets for an old wooden bowl, one his grandfather had made. He digs his pocketknife out of a fruit dish and carves an E into the worn side, and fills it with fish he's had in the ice box.

"Met the guy's been stealin' my fish," he says without preamble when Willy steps out of his shack the next morning. "Some merman's been livin' in my river."

Willy grunts. "River?"

"Thought it were weird, too," Rever says, "But he ain't too bad."

Truly, he doesn't seem to be. Elliott doesn't come around every day, but when he does, he's friendly. Rever's bowl empties the fastest when it's got lobster in it, so he rolls his eyes and sets more crab pots, and he preens to himself when deep-lake driftwood and fossils replace them. They aren't worth nearly as much, but he doubles down on jelly production and breeds wildflowers for honey, and after shipping and production costs, he makes enough to survive. Enough, certainly, he rationalizes when he comes home with approximately fifty wildgrass starters, to make the bees more comfortable.

He sets up a radio and a water bottle on the central island where his honeybees are and starts to dig. The summer sun beats down, a little too warm for this early in the season. He's out of his shirt and humming along to the radio when fair hands latch onto the edge of the island where the earth is freshly packed.

“ _You’ve got to prime the pump, you must have fai-ith and believe_ -”

"Rever, I didn't realise you sang."

Rever startles, dropping his trough. "What- oh. Hello, Elliott." He reaches over to click the radio off. "Didn't see you there. Don't, really. Just pretend to."

Elliott hums. "what's all the grass for?"

"Pretty up the place," Rever answers. "Good for the bees. Hopin' it spreads an' I can turn all this into a research farm with the local scientist."

"Crop life isn't for you?"

"Elliott, honestly? Just wanna fish." He pauses, grinning cheekily. "Hope that ain't an offense to ya."

Elliott rolls his eyes and presses forward. "Rever, I have a question for you."

"Shoot."

"Do you happen to have a typewriter?"

"Sure's shit," Rever says. " Got my granddad's. What're you wantin' with a typewriter?"

"I was a published author, years ago," Elliott says, and he sounds a little wistful, "but it's been a long time since I've had anyone to hear my novels but the fish."

"Wh- how'd you publish stories?"

"I had a publisher, obviously. And an editor and an agent. I wasn't always trapped to this river." Elliott looks a little nervous, his fingers tapping at the earth. "I was human, until a few years ago."

“Human,” Rever says, sucking air between his teeth. “Have to find your books.”

“I imagine it was a curse,” Elliott says. When he sees the way Rever balks, he flicks the river water toward Rever on the bank.“Of course I know what you’re not asking, Rever. I'm sure people ask doubly invasive things about you." He gestures, then, to the unsubtle glow of Rever's skin, to the gangliness of his limbs and the point of his ears.

“Sorry,” Rever says, more sheepish than their initial meeting. “Wasn’t raised nosey.”

Elliott carries on. “Since being cursed, I’ve missed writing immensely, and I’d like you to help me continue to write, if you’d be interested. Of course you have no obligation.”

“Sure,” Rever says, and he doesn’t even really think about it. “Couldn’t imagine not bein’ able to do what I love.”

“I can’t think of an animal body that wouldn’t allow you to fish,” Elliott quips.

Rever tosses some dirt at him. “You want my bass, or not? Listen, lemme finish this grass plantin’, and tomorrow I’ll start helpin’ you write your stories, okay?”

Elliott beams. “Marvelous! Would you mind horribly if I told you about it now?”

“Ain’t turnin’ my radio back on.”

Rever finishes the grass as the sun sets and lays down in the clearing by his honeybees long after the moon rises, listening to Elliott’s detailed roadmap. “You just remember all that?” he asks when Elliott pauses.

“I don’t have a choice, Rever.”

“Right,” Rever says. “Well, can’t wait to type this out for you. Run me through that last bit again?”

Over the next few days, they meet more and more off the farm. When Rever finishes caring for his honeybees, he moves to the pond down in the forest to catch fish, where often Elliott is already waiting for him.

“They’re connected underground,” Elliott explains at Rever’s shock. “There’s a rock tunnel, right near the edge of your farm.”

“But you jumped, once!”

Elliott shrugs. “I thought a full view of my tail would scare you away.”

“You were stealin’ my- okay,” Rever says, evening his breath, “Well, you failed, anyway. Thought you were beautiful.”

Elliott stutters and sinks just a bit below the water, likely to cool his deep blush. It only proves Rever’s point: his hair pools back around him, a deep wood-brown halo to eyes that shimmer even in the day. “Brought a notebook,” Rever says instead of his poetics. “Start us out wherever, cap'n.”

Taking dictation for a novel isn’t quick work, and Elliott is prone to overthinking individual paragraphs in near silence for huge chunks of time, but they manage a few pages before the week is out.

“It’s rough,” Rever says.

“It’s art,” Elliott answers. “At least it will be.”

“Sure,” Rever says, “It will be.”

When they aren't working, Rever spends some rainy evenings in the library, fruitlessly searching for any documented cases of curses in the valley. There aren't any, just a few history books on the dwarven war that Gunther watches him page through wearily.

"Not much magic documentation here, huh?"

Gunther polishes his glasses. "Citizens of Pelican Town aren't especially religious, no. They used to be."

"Damn shame," Rever grumbles, and then drops the dusty books he did find on the checkout counter.

"I didn't take you for a romance fan, Mr. Rever."

" 'M helpin' with a new novel."

Gunther calmly scribbles down Rever's name and pulls the cards. "I hope Elliott's doing well. When you see him, tell him I hope his curse is lifted soon."

Rever glares across the counter. "Gunther, what d'you know?"

"A fair bit. I couldn't be a librarian if I knew nothing."

"Cut it," Rever says. "Don't you wanna help a neighbor?"

"Mr. Rever, do you know what would happen to the library if I were to leave my spot? If I were to lose my focus?" He lifts Rever's books back over the counter and into Rever's bag. "Pray you never have to. Have a good evening."

Rever goes swimming when they aren’t writing, floating lazily in the pond or his river, Elliott swimming laps around him. Rever tells him about his home in the city. Elliott tells him about his cabin by the beach and a friend he had at the shore, and how much he misses him.

“Oh, Willy?”

“You know him?”

“Sure do know ‘im,” Rever says, “Willy’s my best friend. Can’t you get down to that river? Usually he’s on the ocean, but the river's freshwater, too.”

“I can’t,” Elliott says. “Your river and this pond are connected, but the river through town isn’t.”

“Oh,” Rever says, “Well, I’ll tell Willy you send yer greetin's."

"Could I bother you for notebooks from my cabin, sometime? At your leisure."

Rever clicks his tongue. "Sure, Elliott. When I go down tomorrow."

Willy’s quiet the next day until Rever awkwardly tells him that Elliott’s safe, and that he’s the one living on Rever’s farm, at which point Willy babbles and rages and doesn’t believe, not until Rever asks if he wants to go visit, so Willy locks the shop up early and they find Elliott in the forest sleeping in the pond underneath the pier and Willy almost dives into the water to see for himself and Rever isn’t comfortable, not really, watching such a heartfelt reunion. It’s not jealousy that nags at his heart, there’s no burning or anger, just something cold, something hollow.

Willy and Elliott spend the day catching up, so Rever gives them space and forages out near the secret woods, where the wizard’s tower is. He knows the wizard, has completed a few of the community board requests and spent a few evenings debating magic practices. Rever's own beliefs had always clashed with the way Rasmodius practices, but he'd be a fool to write years of study off as useless.

Rever stops on the steps to the Wizard's tower, his pockets bulging with spice berries. Nothing moves inside, not that he can see, but he squints up the spire until his eyes hurt and he trudges back to the pond where Willy and Elliott chat.

Summer winds down and the first few breezes of fall hit the farm. Rever panics, slightly, and spends the first day planting all the cranberries he can get his hands on. He doesn’t look for Elliott, and Elliott doesn’t come, but when a sharp breeze cuts his cheek, he does wonder about the water.

Thankfully, he does show on the fifth. Rever practically throws the door open when Elliott waves from the river, tripping out the door to meet him at the edge. “Happy birthday,” He says, breathless. “Was worried you froze.”

“I’ve lived in this river for years, Rever.”

“And I’ve known you less than one, don’t mess with me,”

“Thank you,” Elliott says, gentle enough to warm the water, “I’ll be fine.”

Rever grunts as he slides onto the dirt, his already bare feet sinking into the water. “Have more time to go out to the lake now that fall’s here. It’s busy, but I ain’t plantin’ anymore. Sorry I’ve been slackin’.”

Elliott looks to the bowl that’s set empty for days. “I appreciate that you personalized it,” he says instead of answering. “I don’t know if I told you that. All said, I suppose I don’t mind not eating like a pet.”

Rever cringes. “See how that’s how it feels.”

“I’m only teasing,” Elliott says quickly after, and he pulls himself up onto the dirt to sit with Rever, the red of his tail stark against the browning grass.

“Didn’t get you anything for your birthday,” Rever says, “but I do have an idea.” Elliott looks interested, and Rever carries on. “You know how- how you’re stuck? And how you miss Willy, and dry hair, and autonomy?” Elliott nods, and Rever kicks himself. Of course he knows. “Well, don’t know if you know about the Wizard?”

“The man in the tower?” Elliott interrupts. “Sure. I’ve seen him some evenings.”

“Yeah,” Rever says. “Well, I been thinkin', y'know, me and the wizard get to talkin’ about magic a lot, and I could," Rever offers tentatively, "try strikin' a deal with ‘im to give you legs again. If that's somethin' you'd be wantin'?"

"Legs again," Elliott sighs. "It's been so long, now, since I'd even entertained the dream."

"Can't stand to see a man cursed," Rever grumbles. "Wizard owes me a favor. I'll pay the cost."

"I couldn't thank you enough,"

"Hey, now," Rever snaps, but it's weary and without venom, "Bad luck to thank me already."

"Of course," Elliott says, his eyebrows furrowing, "Of course. Forgive me."

Rever can't help but look at him, his face wound tight with barely-contained hope, shot through with genuine worry. Rever kicks himself for shooting Elliott down. They both watch Rever swirl his pruned foot in the water, occasionally bumping Elliott’s fin until Elliott looks back up at him, and Rever slowly takes his clammy hand. "Promise," Rever says, "On my life, this evening I'll try."

The wizard's tower looms high over Rever's head, ivy replacing the mortar close to the foundation. It's just Rasmodius, he knows, a tower he's seen the inside of countless times, but he's never been the one asking for a favor.

"Rasmodius," Rever calls, banging his entire fist on the rotten wood, "Rasmodius, lemme in!"

"What? What do you want?" Rasmodius grumbles from the other side of the door. "I have studies to conduct, you fool, there's a price to pay for interrupting- Ah." He stops when he opens the door. "The farmer Rever. Here to change your hair again?"

"Got a merman who's been cursed," Rever says, pushing past Rasmodius into the cavern of his chambers. "An' I'm guessin' it was you an' your magic what cursed 'im."

Rasmodius closes the door unceremoniously behind him. "A merman? Curses? Not at all my arcane specialty. What makes you so sure he's honest?"

"You gotta trust people, Rasmodius. He used to live here, out on the ocean. He knows at least one of the townspeople. He's my friend and I'm worried about him in the winter." Rever pauses, looking the wizard right in the eye. "Anyhow, I know how you won't go into the mines. Be a shame if your supply of monster parts ran dry."

Rasmodius rolls his eyes. "Alright. Alright, fine. If you'll stoop to useless threats, it must be important. I'll see what I can do."

" 'Ppreciate it," Rever mumbles, and hands him a bundle of solar essence for his trouble.

"I hope the cost wasn't too much," Elliott worries when Rever delivers the news.

"Didn't name a price yet," Rever admits. "Anyhow, don't worry about it. He probably can't trick me out of my personhood or anything," he waves his hand under the sun, the rays emphasizing the glow in his buttercup-yellow skin. "Ain't quite human, either. Nothin' else I got’s worth all that much."

“I wouldn’t want anything to happen,”

“Elliott,” Rever says, “Nothin’ to happen. Whatever his price, it can’t be much.”

“You seem so sure.”

Rever grins. “Might've bribed him.”

“You - that isn’t striking a deal!”

“C’mon, he ain’t dangerous, just rude. I c'n be rude, too.”

Elliott sighs, exaggerated and fond. “Are you sure you didn’t leave the city because you made too many enemies?”

“Enemies! Me an’ the wizard ain’t enemies. Have a little faith.”

“Okay,” Elliott says. “Faith.”

At the end of the week, the wizard summons Rever to his tower at the edge of the secret woods. Rever leaves a note on the bank and takes off promptly.

“I have something,” Rasmodius says. “I don’t know if it’s much.”

“What’s it s'pposed to be?” Rever takes the bottle from the wizard’s hands and cradles it gently. It’s a murky sort of brown, swirling through the bottle like sludge.

“It’s a salve,” the Wizard says. “It’s for mobility on land. It won’t make him human, not completely, and in this state it may not even last long. That bottle should last a while.”

“What do I owe?”

“It’s research,” The wizard says, waving his hand. “And it isn’t foolproof. I can’t charge for uncertainty."

Rever holds the bottle tightly. "Was mostly kidding about not helping you."

Rasmodius scoffs. "As if I need you for parts. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t see its value.”

“So what’s the catch?”

Rasmodius rolls his eyes. “Just tell me if it works.”

“Thank you,” Rever tries, but Rasmodius waves him off.

“Go on, take it to your merman. Good luck.”

Before Rever even goes home, he takes a detour through the forest and the southern streets where a local teen fails at skateboard tricks, down to the beach. The wind off the water stings, cold against Rever’s bare face, but he stomps through the sand to Elliott’s cabin and fishes the front door key out of the net above the door. He’d taken notebooks from the cabin before, at Elliott’s request, and as hesitant as he is to dig around in anyone’s closet, Rever figures a complete gift includes clothes to change into. Elliott’s cabin always smells like saltwater, now tinged with the undeniable scent of cold; of something not quite dead, but certainly not thriving. There’s clothes tossed over the piano bench, an entire suit set up and then never touched. Rever grabs the bundle and shoves it in his backpack, careful not to wonder what this house would feel like lived in, how Elliott’s voice would sound against the chimes of the piano. The floorboards creak under his feet, and he briefly considers enlisting Willy to help dust the place before Elliott comes home.

The weight of the bottle sits heavy in his backpack against only the clothes, and Rever shifts it on his back with every step. He takes the long way through town, this time, past the mayor and the shopkeep's wife and another woman he doesn't recognise. He can't justify his anxiousness or the way his feet bounce in his boots, but he yells out over his minimal land for Elliott. He doesn’t have any luck on the farm, so he follows the river down and out toward the pond, where Willy sits with a fishing pole, and where Elliott lounges beside him. Elliott perks up when he catches Rever hesitating near the bushes.

“Rever!” Elliott calls. “We were wondering where you’d gone. We came looking for you.”

Rever’s heart jumps with all the grace of a fish out of the lake. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Was workin’ on a surprise for you.” He shifts the pack on his shoulders, and he swears he can hear the salve inside slosh around as the bottle shifts. He ignores it, and continues. “Uh, went talkin’ to the wizard.”

Elliott shifts, leaning a little less on the shore. “Oh, good things?”

Rever shrugs. “Good starts.”

Elliott turns to Willy, who’s already packing up his fishing gear. Rever furrows his eyebrows. “Be seeing you both,” he says, “good luck with yer magic.”

Rever approaches the pond when Willy steps a few feet away. “Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he grumbles.

“I told him you and I had important business,” Elliott says, “Don’t worry about it. The wizard had results?”

"Gave me a thing, sure,” Rever says, “Wanna move back to the farm?”

Elliott dives beneath the water instead of answering, and Rever pushes himself off the bank and jogs back up the path to the footbridges that connect bank to bank until he meets Elliott in front of his home. “It’s temporary,” Rever says when he gets there, “supposed to put it on every morning 'n evening where yer scales meet yer skin. Also, uh, on yer gills.” Elliott waits, grinning, while Rever digs around in his backpack.

“Are those my clothes?”

Rever goes red. “Er, stopped by your cabin. Figured you’d be wantin’ clothes, if it worked.” He coughs. “Was uh, gonna carry you inside an’ let you use my bathroom, if you wanted.”

“I’d be incredibly thankful.”

“Yo- _ba_ ,” Rever sighs, “Quit thankin’ me.”

“I couldn’t,” Elliott says, and he sounds like he wouldn’t if he’d wanted to. “You have to know how much this matters.”

“Alright, alright,” Rever says. He holds the bottle up for Elliott to see, and then drops it back in his backpack. He slings it over his shoulder before holding his hands out over the water. “C’mon, lets go.”

Elliott’s arms find their way around Rever’s neck almost immediately, and Rever almost regrets wearing clothes he didn’t want wet. “Heavier ‘n I thought you’d be,” he grunts, his arms finding purchase in the scales where Elliott’s knees would be. They dig into his fingers as they make their way up the stairs to the porch, they dig into his fingers when he kicks the door open, and they dig into his fingers until he lowers Elliott carefully into his bathtub. His arms ache when he slides his backpack off his shoulders. “Well,” Rever says, “just gonna leave you to it.”

Rever closes the bathroom door and moves to the armoire to change his clothes, and then moves to the living room to rearrange his tackle box, and then picks up a novel he’d been halfway through, and by the time Elliott does exit the bathroom, Rever’s cat, Zombie, is curled up on his chest, and Rever’s almost forgotten anyone was over to begin with.

“Hey,” Rever says, “Worried you keeled over in there.” He lays his book on Zombie’s sleeping head, bending it at the spine. “Awful quiet.”

“If I speak,” Elliott says carefully, “I fear I’ll wake.”

“Dramatic,” Rever grumbles, but he tilts his head back. He never guessed he’d meet Elliott at full height, but he’s shorter than Rever would have imagined. “Your hair’s red,” he says instead of anything else.

“Kind of,” Elliott answers, “When it’s dry. Have I thanked you yet? My hair hasn’t been dry in years.”

“Sure you thanked me,” Rever says, and he shoos Zombie from his chest and rolls off the couch. Elliott’s beautiful, of course, his eyes only slightly dimmer, teeth slightly duller. “What’re you gonna do now?”

“Sleep in my own bed,” Elliott sighs. “Visit my friends. I wanted to surprise Willy, and- does Leah still live here?”

“Who?”

“Leah, she lived by the ranch, the little cabin in the bushes. Oh, I’ve missed her. I’ll have to see them.”

Where not two weeks ago Rever had felt a hollow coldness, seeing Elliott only from the beach, something warm blooms instead. He’d drive himself mad, stuck in small rivers without any way to move or to visit the people he’d known. In Elliott's shoes, Rever guesses, he wouldn't have anyone to visit anyway, but it hardly matters now when Elliott is grinning in front of him, bouncing on his heels.

"Clothes are so awkward," Elliott says.

Rever snorts. "You'll get used to them."

"I'm sorry to intrude," Elliott says, and he continues before Rever has the chance to shush him, "I'm going back to my cabin. I can't imagine how filthy the place is now.” Elliott grins something nervous, and then reaches out to take Rever’s hands in his own, now dry, now warm. “Rever, thank you.”

“Quit thankin’ me,” Rever grumbles again, but he squeezes Elliott’s hands before he drops them like they’re burning. “Anythin’ for a friend.” Elliott’s expression darkens, just for half a second. “Oh,” Rever says, ruffling around on his table for the notebooks with Elliott’s delicate handwriting on the covers, and Rever’s chicken scratch on the pages. “Didn’t need my typewriter after all.”

Elliott takes the notebooks gingerly. “Writing again,” he sighs. “You’ll see it again before it’s done, Rever. I’m sure of it.”

“Go on,” Rever says. “See you around.”

“You will,” Elliott says, and then he’s gone and the farm is quiet again, save the water that rushes constantly in the background, and the ring of silence in Rever’s ear.

He steps outside with his fishing gear and his radio and plops down by his honeybees. It’d been a while since he’d fished on the farm, and his spot at the edge clear of grass that molds like it’s meant to around his legs and backside is so comforting it’s almost as though he’d never gone, so he clicks on his radio, casts his line, and hums along to the tinny shanties flowing through the speakers.

Life returns almost to the normal he’d come to expect within a few days. He carves a Z on the other side of the wooden bowl at the bank and uses it for Zombie, and he doesn’t worry about anyone taking anything off the altar he carefully cleans. He adds a bowl of blackberries and an orange table runner, and he shifts his setting plate to one shaped like an autumn leaf that he leaves his best bream on, and it’s almost as if nothing extraordinary had happened to the farm Rever had only called home for a little less than a year.

Rever isn’t sure why he’s surprised to find Willy on the pier, but the sound of Willy’s gravelly _Damn them all_ , carried through the trees, gives Rever pause. He hadn’t seen Willy so talkative or emotive before he’d told him about Elliott, and Rever’s not sure if a switch had been flipped, if that’s the way Willy is always going to act now. The uncertainty of it sticks his feet in the sand. He’d enjoyed the quiet down here by the sea, and Willy was his closest friend. He wouldn’t know what to do with noise where he thought silence should remain. He picks his feet up shakily and steps further onto the beach, gathering shells as he goes, and Willy sings from the other side of the shack. The pier creaks when Rever does board it, and Willy quiets down. Rever settles in beside him and casts his line. The silence is familiar, comforting in its own way, and they sit in their companionable silence for a few empty minutes. Except it isn't companionable, not completely, and the air is nervous. It stays quiet for a few minutes before Willy picks up his song again.

Willy mutters his singing only just above his breath, and Rever knows the lyrics. He sucks in a deep breath and hums along, uncertain.“ _I’m a broken man on a Gotoro pier_?"

Willy grins, and continues louder. Where Rever knows the words, he jumps in just as loud.

"Where'd you learn that, lad?" Willy asks when they've finished.

"Grandad taught us all, me an' the cousins," Rever says. "Knew a lot of songs like that."

Willy lets a laugh rumble out from his stomach. "Alright, boy, sing us another."

"Thought you liked the quiet, Willy."

"Thought you did."

Rever tries not to look toward Elliott’s cabin between their songs, sure that if he were there, he’d hear them, and if he wanted he could join them, too. It'd been at least a week since Rever'd seen him, and each day made him equal parts anxious and annoyed. He'd thought they were friends, not just stuck together on the same land - er, well - and each day of radio silence makes his hands shakier. He realizes with the slightest bit of irritation that he’d gotten used to noise, real, human noise, and singing with Willy here on the pier is as good a time as any, as long as Rever can keep fishing, but he can't help but feel like there's something he should be watching for in the water.

When evening falls and Willy makes his way toward the saloon, Rever packs away his fishing gear and kicks his bare feet into the cool water off the pier. He shivers, and with a resigned sigh collects his things and carries them up the shore. A single light shines in Elliott's cabin, and against his better judgement, Rever finds himself padding over and rapping sharply once at the door.

Elliott answers almost immediately, his hair swept up in a bun with loose strands that lay wispy against his face. For half a second, Rever forgets to breathe. "Rever," Elliott says. "What brings you out here?"

"Was- that is, we were fishin'," Rever starts.

"Sure, I heard the two of you sing."

"Yeah," Rever says, "An' I wanted to check on you. Y'know, make sure you were settlin' in alright. Which," he coughs, "Seems like you are, so I'll let you be,"

"Rever," Elliott interrupts, "Why don't you stay?"

"Nah, got, er, cranberries. Cranberries what need harvesting. Only meant to come check in, an' I have, so, ah," Rever struggles for words, instead digging a shell out of his pocket and shoving it into Elliott's hand. "Uh, if you ain't sick of water, that's for you." He nods to himself. "Well. Anyhow. See you."

"Yes," Elliott says, but Rever's already stomping his way up to the bridge. "See you soon."

Rever enters the grange competition with artisan honey and cranberries and doesn't take any prize home, but he does get a lesson on crafting kegs, so he plans for mead and cranberry wine and over the month he makes a little more money than he had been, and he fishes with Willy and checks on Linus and meets Leah, finally, and sees what it is Elliott likes about her. Demetrius asks when they’re going to talk about the research farm. Rever tells him he’s sorry, that he’s been helping a merman write a novel. Demetrius casts him a wary glance, says he’ll stop by when winter gets underway, tells him to drink some water and go to bed a little earlier.

As the days get colder he spends more time inside reading with Zombie. He'd started getting threatening letters from Gunther about his overdue library books, and as much as part of him wants to give up and return them without reading a single word, the rest of him is stubborn as a rock, so he settles into his couch and carefully covers Elliott's photo on the dust jacket and tries to read.

It's a science fiction title, one about space captains and intergalactic conspiracies. It's a little cheesy for Rever's usual taste, but it's fun to see the way Elliott's drama and deliberate prose flow through a story completely different than the one they'd been working on together. There's a side character, a spaceship crew member, that Rever thinks whether purposefully or not bears a striking resemblance to Elliott. He’s got the same sort of air and drama about him, and a careful way of examining and interacting with the world. His seems to be a lighter B-plot against the overwhelming scope of intergalactic politics; there’s a cook he’s enamoured of beyond words, and the majority of his page time involves awkwardly fluttering around her, making excuses to end up near the kitchens, being hyper-aware when she is around. It isn’t new and it isn’t spectacular, but Rever’s heart warms at the way the character’s palms sweat and tongue tangles, and Rever despairs when she doesn’t recognize his tokens of affection for what they are, and Rever can’t help but think of a seashell nervously shoved into someone else’s hand, or his finger pressed firmly against the author’s headshot, and it doesn’t hit him like it might in a story, but when Rever thinks about it, he can’t remember the last time he didn’t want to talk and sing and be around Elliott, the way he’s learning to talk around Willy and Linus, and he lays the book down on his chest and heaves such an enormous sigh that Zombie perks her head up and meows with concern on the floor next to him.

“Didn’t ask for this shit,” Rever says aloud to no-one. The river that crashes against the few feet of land on all sides of his house continues to crash, and the sounds of it are his only answer. The river sloshes up against the bank and idly he wonders if his altar is far enough to be safe from washing away, with the waves crashing the way they are, and he remembers the way Elliott looked the first time they’d met, the green of his eyes a beacon against the black water, and Rever realizes now that they’d only ever really gotten brighter. The sickening vulnerability of the thought makes Rever’s eyes roll, and he lets out another sigh. He packs the book, unfinished with the other, into his bag, and moves to kick on his shoes and grab his tacklebox from its stand by the door.

Pelican Town is quiet at night, and Rever enjoys the way his feet hit the cobblestone. The sound of water is constant wherever he goes, either from the ocean or the rivers, a calming background against the static of his nerves. He makes a pit stop at the library to drop his unfinished book in the after-hours box before he trails back down and across the bridge to the beach. The waves are louder here, and he wonders how he ever called the running water at his home loud. Resolutely he ignores Elliott’s cabin and the dim light still lit (What can he be doing up at this hour? clashing up against Stop worrying about it, don’t look) and makes his way down to the pier. Nobody's here at this hour, just the way he'd planned it, so he settles in with his fishing pole and the silence. Somewhere behind him something creaks, but he doesn't hear footsteps on the pier, so he doesn't turn. As the clock inches closer to two he packs his things, the static in his nerves soothed into something quieter and easier to move with. There’s still a light on when he trudges back up the pier, and somehow it’s even more of a battle not to wonder what’s going on, but he makes it up onto the bridge and over into the square where all of the lights are off, and everyone that might have been awake is gone to sleep, and everywhere he goes, Rever hears water, and he’s enamoured of the merman that had been living in his river and stealing his religious offerings not two seasons ago. The thought loops over in his head, less scary now than when it first occurred to him.

Rever switches out the fish on his altar, and when he goes inside Zombie finds her way to Rever's feet and purrs when he sets down his tackle box for her to roll around on. He strips off his boots and his overshirt and his pants and leaves them in a pile at the door, and when he moves nearly naked through the dark, he moves quickly, crumpling into his bed as soon as his knees brush his quilt. He falls asleep almost instantly, head swimming with dreams of long hair and green eyes and shimmering red tails.

Demetrius shows up on the first day of winter with a binder full of documents and a laptop the likes of which Rever hadn’t seen since college. “Hi. Want to get a head start on spring?”

By the end of an entire day of debate and looking at paperwork, Rever agrees to a small coop and a focus on breeding rare flowers, with the condition that he be able to do what he wants with the honey that tastes like them.

“What’d you study in college, Rever?” Demetrius asks. Outside, the sun sets, casting the last of its rays out over the river. It’s five in the evening, a far cry from the 8 o’ clock sunset he’d been accustomed to. It’s too loud to not be able to see.

“Ecology,” Rever grumbles.

“Ah, a man of science. Anything more specific?”

“Ecology,” Rever repeats.

“Okay,” Demetrius says. “Well, I’m going to go home. My daughter wanted to run some research past me before she gets any farther in it. Have you met my daughter, Maru?”

“Haven’t,” Rever says. “Very proud of her. I’ll get those agreement forms drawn up before spring.”

“Bill me for the building costs,” Demetrius reminds.

“Will do,” Rever says, and with very little prodding, Demetrius leaves with little else but an annoyed glance and a curt goodbye.

Rever sighs when he closes the door behind Demetrius and glares at the letter on his table he’d been nervous about all day. Right before Demetrius had shown up, he’d received a letter from the wizard.

 _Rever_ , it reads, _It’s been nearly a season. Let me know how that salve has been working. Hopefully it’s hasn’t made anything worse._

_-M. Rasmodius_

Rever had forgotten the terms of their negotiation, the promise that it was free hinging upon a checkup. It had been an incredibly generous offer, at the time, when Rever had assumed nothing would change between himself and Elliott except how much time they spent in the water. Now he’s faced with actually checking back up, with inviting Elliott’s specific noise back into his increasingly loud life and either acting like he hadn’t spent the better part of two weeks unknowingly pining or picking things up like they hadn’t stopped speaking at all. “Yeah?” Rever says out loud, “Who ruined that, now?”

It boils down, in the end, to the simple fact of missing Elliott anyway. Rever isn’t sure where giving space gave way to complete avoidance, but he remembers the way he’d felt when he went to get Elliott’s clothes in that cold and empty cabin, and he thinks about singing with Willy on the pier and the candle that always seems lit in the window and the dusty piano bench and having to go see that damned wizard and something buzzes, in him, the silence not comforted by the crash of the waves against the ocean shore, of the river that constantly flowed and broke up the few islands of his farm, and it’s loud, now, too loud, and he half-wishes Elliott were there to laugh and drown it out. He wonders how the book is going. He wonders if Elliott would like to go out for a drink. A furtive glance at the clock says it’s early enough, if he really wants to, but the bitter cold and the buzz in his hands keeps him stuck where he stands.

In the end, he tears up the letter and turns on his radio and settles into his couch without picking up the living room table and resigns for trying tomorrow.

He doesn’t answer the wizard. He doesn’t visit Elliott, either, but he does stumble into Pierre's for sugar when he runs into Elliott anyway.

“Rever,” Elliott says, “It’s been so long. I trust you’re well?”

“Yeah,” Rever says, and coughs. “Was gonna visit you today, if that’d be alright.”

“I - of course. Yes. Let me just, ah, check out here? And then-”

“Yeah,” Rever interrupts. “Yeah. Just gonna. Wait here.”

Rever does wait, here in this seed store he almost never visits, and he almost considers bailing before Elliott joins him. “So, Rever,” he says, “How’s the farm been?”

Rever hates the small talk, but he grits his teeth and says, “Turned it into a research farm. Supposed to train chickens and breed rare flowers.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“Sounds good for my honeybees.”

“Will you still have time for your fishing?”

Rever hums. “Hope so. Dunno what I’d do if I couldn’t. Dunno why I didn’t just volunteer to be a water energy farm, come to think of it.”

Elliott laughs, then, a chuckle that barely reaches Rever’s ears. “It’s the beginning of winter. I’m sure you have time to negotiate.”

“Been readin’ a lot,” Rever says, changing the subject in his blunt kind of way. “Tried your sci-fi novel.”

Elliott’s cheeks grow red, burning visibly under the olive green of his scarf. “How’d you find it?”

“Bit cheesey,” Rever says, and he doesn’t look to see Elliott’s face fall, “Love the cook. Wish she’d just - just see what Azrod’s doin’, y’know? Put the guy out of his misery.”

“Is that what you call addressing emotions?” Elliott asks, appalled. “Is that how you react to suitors? _Putting them out of their misery_?”

“Ain’t ever really had a suitor.”

Elliott chokes on his words for just a second. “Right. Well, for their sakes, maybe they should sit in their misery.”

“No fun if I never get to live it down.”

Elliott laughs at that, louder than the last time, and the buzz that had been growing in Rever’s head mellows out. As they reach the cabin, the only things he can really hear are the ocean and Elliott’s laugh.

He remembers trying not to think of the place as loved and lived in, but when Elliott opens the door and Rever steps in, it’s impossible not to see the change. Everything’s cleaner, inasmuch as nothing’s dusty, but everything is far messier, inasmuch as it’s clear Elliott lives there now. There’s a wastebasket overflowing with crumpled pieces of paper and a writing desk, once mostly organized, is scattered with notebooks and a half-typed manuscript. “How’s the new book coming?”

“Your help was invaluable in its earliest stages, Rever,” Elliott says. “As for now? It's coming along, I suppose.”

“That bad?”

Elliott scowls, less at Rever, hopefully, than at being so transparent. “I’ve been rather stuck.”

“Do uh- you wanna run ideas past me?"

"It's the main characters," Elliott says, "their sordid romance. I know how the mystery ends, you see, just - not how they reach that conclusion together."

"You've been thinkin' of this story for years, Elliott."

"And yet," Elliott sighs. "Now that it's on paper it's all just fallen out of my hands."

"Weird how things get real," Rever mumbles. Then, louder, he says, "Why not just take a break?"

"I've tried. I've taken quite a few breaks. Rever, if I admit something, do you swear not to laugh?"

"Sure,"

"Quite a few days, since we last spoke a few weeks ago, I've been too distracted by - by wanting to see you again. I've thought about visiting you out at your farm, but you behaved so strangely the last time you were here I just assumed-"

"Shit," Rever hisses. "I'm sorry."

"I'm thankful you're here,"

"Elliott I missed you like you wouldn't believe,"

"I've seen you on the pier a few times, with Willy and a few nights ago, and I-"

"Just hoped you hear us singin' an' come join, but you didn't, and,"

It's Elliott that breaks their tripping words to laugh, again, and Rever never thought he'd be so blessed to hear it three times in such a short period. "What fools we've been."

"Damn sorry, Elliott, truly. We just saw so much of each other, didn't wanna keep bein' in your way. You got your whole life back, an' you were mostly my whole life, but that ain't your fault. Probably no good for me to be livin' like that, anyway."

"If I hadn't wanted to spend time around you, Rever, I wouldn't have. The river on your farm is a small place to live for half a decade, but it's certainly large enough to hide in. Did you truly think, after everything you'd done for me, that I wouldn't want to be around you anymore?"

"Sounds horrible when you put it that way,"

"Doesn't it?"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Elliott says, his voice low, sweet, "just don't feel unwelcome, alright?"

"Won't," Rever says, and for half a second he thinks about taking Elliott's hand in his, ultimately deciding against it. "Can you play the piano? Right now?"

"Of course," Elliott says, but the tone of his voice asks a question. Rever smiles something small and tentative and seats himself at the end of Elliott's bed. "Any particular request?"

"Somethin' you can sing to."

Elliott smirks, but he clears his throat and sits down, hands flittering for just a moment before he finds the keys he's looking for. It's a song Rever could sing, if he wanted, the lyrics playing in his mind the second he hears the notes, but he's happier listening, and the more he takes it in, the more fruitless he realizes it was not to imagine this scenario. What a waste, he thinks, to pretend there wasn't life here in this cabin on the beach, sleeping under the floorboards waiting for Elliott to come home. What a joy he'd denied himself, only the first of many.

"I'm usually more of a classical musician," Elliott says when he's finished. "Forgive my rough performance."

"It's good, Elliott. Wondered what the place would sound like with life in it."

"Well," Elliott says, "Now you've heard it."

"Thank you," Rever says, and it's all he can think to say.

"Should I let you get back to the farm?"

 _No_. "Probably," Rever concedes. "Gotta go cook for minin' this season. Promise, though. Won't make myself scarce anymore."

"A week or so really wasn't the end of the world," Elliott says, "It isn't like you disappeared, I just assumed you were busy. That all said, I'd appreciate it."

Rever smiles while he kicks his boots back on. "Thanks for playin' for me."

He stops by the wizard's on his way home, glad to let him know Elliott's doing fine.

Three days in a row Rever knocks his head in the mines. Three days in a row Linus and Robin drag him out, and collectively he's lost most of his memory from the last few days.

"Rever," Linus says when he comes to, Rever's head buried in the crook of Linus' crossed legs, "You can't keep on like this."

" 'M fine."

"What day is it?"

"Thursday."

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Five."

Linus sighs and drags his hand down his face. "Can you stand?"

"Course I can stand," Rever grumbles, "just dizzy."

"Alright, well stand up. We're going to Harvey's."

"Why?"

"It's Sunday. I'm no doctor, but I think you could have a concussion. Let's get up."

Rever grumbles and trips, but he stands. "Can't have a concussion," he growls. "Ain't quite work like humans do."

"We're going to see Harvey anyway. Just lean on me."

Rever does, unhappily, stand up, and he spits before he wraps his buttercup arm around Linus' shoulder. "Don't work like humans do," Rever insists. "Don't need as much sleep, don't get hurt as easy, probably can't get a concussion."

"Alright, Rever," Linus agrees tiredly. "Just keep walking with me."

Carefully they make their way down the mountain, Rever grumbling the whole way, until they wobble into town and Linus lets him go long enough to push open the door to the clinic.

"Never been in here," Rever mutters to himself, drowned out by Linus calling for Harvey at the reception desk.

"Can you sit on your own?"

"Just damn fine,"

"I pulled him out of the mines unconscious twice in the last week," Linus says as soon as Harvey swings the door open, "I think he might need to be checked up on."

"Alright," Harvey says, distantly. "Were you looking to stay here with him?"

"Hospitals make me itchy," Linus says, hesitant. "Rever, do-"

"You're fine," Rever says, waving him off. "Go back to nature."

Linus waves at Harvey and offers a quiet thank you toward Rever before slipping back out into the street.

"Sorry to waste your time, Doc," Rever says. "But everythin's fine, so if you'll pardon me,"

"Come on back, Rever."

Rever groans, but follows Harvey anyway. The office feels static, machines humming. It isn't preferred, but it's better than silence only broken by a near stranger's voice.

"Is it really Sunday?"

Harvey pauses. "Yes, Rever."

"Doc, I ain't like y'all," Rever tries. "Really don't think 'm so bad off."

"Well," Harvey says, and he readies a blood pressure reader, "you're already here."

There's a lot of poking and prodding and lights in his eyes that sting for at least two minutes afterwards, and then Harvey sighs, plopping down on the wheeling stool in front of Rever. "Who's your emergency contact?"

"Don't have an official one in the valley."

"Who do you have here?"

"Elliott," the answer is so immediate it runs Rever's face warm. After a second, he adds, "Linus and Willy."

"I'm going to give Elliott a call," Harvey says, "let him know he's who you want contacted."

"This an emergency?"

"You've got a concussion," Harvey says, "It isn't horrible now, but if you keep acting like a damned fool, it can be." He sighs. "I'm sorry. We've had some good people seriously hurt in those mines, Rever, I'd hate to see something happen to you."

"What about bad ones?"

"What?"

"Bad folks. You lose any?"

Harvey smiles, kind and soft. "We don't have bad folks in Pelican Town. I'm prescribing you a few days off. No mines, no fishing, no whatever else farmers do in winter. Doctor's orders. Your grandfather got foolhardy like this, too. It must run in the family."

"Adopted," Rever says. "But thanks, Harvey."

"Get home safe."

"What do I owe you?"

Harvey smirks. "Regular checkups."

When he does make it back to the farm it takes everything in Rever not to trudge inside and collapse immediately, but he loads his ore into his storage bin, leaves his brightest amethyst on his altar, and sets to rummaging through the old storage shed his grandfather had left to rot.

When he tries to leave the next morning, he's startled by a bright red tail splashing in the lake behind his house.

"Elliott?" Rever calls. "What are you doing here?"

"Harvey says you're injured and shouldn't leave," Elliott calls back, swimming lazily back to the shore. "Though he expressed concern that you would be. . . resistant to that advice, shall we say?"

"Don't need a babysitter. It's just a concussion, I've always healed easy."

Elliott quirks an eyebrow. "Just a concussion?"

"C’mon, got equipment now, see?" Rever raps sharply on the hardhat he'd dug out of the shed the night before. "All good for minin'."

"Rever,"

Rever rolls his eyes, but he slides the helmet off head and lets it fall unceremoniously next to the water. Rever follows after it, coming face to face with Elliott. "Fine, fine," Rever says. "You win, fishman. 'm stayin' home." He dips his hand into the cold of the water, and if his fingers tangle around in the long strands of Elliott's hair floating on the surface of the water, neither acknowledge it. "Seems like a lot, to come back here like that.”

Elliott shrugs. “I missed the water anyway. You won’t even know I’m here.”

“Wouldn’t mind any to know,” Rever says, quiet. “Coulda just come inside.”

“Couldn’t possibly,”

“Could absolutely.” Rever takes a second to glance around. “Where’s yer sludge? You could come in now, out of the cold.”

“Rever,” Elliott says, gentle, “I’m fine. I missed living like this, I promise.”

“Do you want company out here?”

“I want you not to go mining again. How many days in a row were you injured?”

“Yo- _ba_ ,” Rever sighs. “You an’ Harvey, I swear.”

“Someone that cares about you and someone that’s paid to,” Elliott says, “How dare we.”

Rever laughs, hoping his face isn’t as flushed as he feels like it is. “Grown man, got my own farm,” Rever says, “‘Ppreciate it, anyhow. Lemme throw on a tougher jacket.”

Against Harvey’s warnings (How can fishing really bother a head injury, anyhow?) Rever settles back out with a fishing pole. “How’s the story comin’?”

“It’s moving,” Elliott agrees. “I can tell you where I’m at currently, if you’d like.”

“Sure, Elliott.”

When Elliott starts speaking, the world around Rever seems warmer.

“Glad to see you,” Rever says when the sun sinks behind the hills. “Gotta head back in soon. You sure you don’t wanna come in out of the cold?”

“I couldn’t intrude,” Elliott says, and if Rever was looking, if he was focusing, he’d hear the words have a sadness to them. He isn’t listening, however, eyes stuck on the way Elliott’s glow. “What are you looking at?”

“Forgot how bright yer eyes got,” Rever breathes. “Mud really dulls your teeth, too.”

“I forget I have to cook fish until I remember my teeth are duller,” Elliott agrees. “Odd how something that felt so foreign is just second nature, now.”

“Yeah,” Rever says, “Odd. Bother you any not to know what happened?"

"Angst is unbecoming," Elliott says. "I used to be nervous, believe it or not. Then, one day, I was stuck in this river, and it didn't matter how or why. There's a lot of wasted time, in my life. I can't still worry about it."

"Fair enough," Rever says. Silence lulls between them for a while before he says, “Missed havin’ you out here, Elliott. Gonna head back inside for the night, I think. You hangin’ around?”

“I’ll be back in the morning,” Elliott answers. “Have a good evening, Rever.”

“Sure,” Rever says, and he half-wonders what would happen if he lost his grip on the bank, if he leaned forward and fell comically into the water. He tries to remember what Elliott’s skin had felt like against his own, how the heat of his face had been so close. Rever swallows. “Night.”

They continue like that, for a few days. Elliott reads and Rever sings and Rever critiques possible outcomes for Elliott’s story and Elliott offers words for the official research proposal that _Demetrius should have drawn, who’s the professional scientist, here? Don’t use “I”, you don’t even use it when you speak! Technical writing is drivel._ It’s cozy. Rever’s happy on the edge of the water, his only real responsibility keeping Elliott’s company.

Harvey calls on the fourth day to tell Rever he’s probably safe, if he didn’t already go nuts locked inside like that. He tells Elliott, and Elliott hums. “Do you mind if I stay another day?”

“Long’s you like,” Rever says. "Your water."

"I'll have to go back by the Night Market," Elliott says. "I’ve missed the last few years."

"Night market?"

"Out on the docks. You should - you should come with me, this year."

"Sure," Rever says. "Be great to join you. Gonna go on a mining trip for a few days before then."

"Oh, Rever, already?"

Rever winces. "Don't have the finances not to, right now. Hear there’s a lake further down than I ever made it. See you real soon. What day's the night market?"

"It begins on the fifteenth, I believe. I was thinking of going the seventeenth."

"Oh," Rever says, "Made it sound immediate. O’course I’ll come.” He crouches next to the river, the ground beneath his hands frozen, sleeping. He worries the warmth of his body will wake the surface up too soon. “Gonna head out, alright? Stay ‘s long as you’d like.” after a few seconds of tense deliberation, Rever leans further out on his hands and presses a kiss to Elliott’s cheek. He’s warm, too; warmer than Rever would have expected of a fish in the winter. “See you,” He says, and Elliott doesn’t look upset, necessarily, but he doesn’t answer either. Rever pushes himself up on his toes and his fingertips, and before he can have the chance to apologise, kicks his muddy boots up the walkway and out to the main road through town.

In the mines, it takes three of his days and most of his first batch of rations to get down to the later levels. He camps uncomfortably in the dank and the cold, and when he gets to the lake on the levels that mirror the surface ground he’s getting used to, he catches a couple of ghostfish. “Li’l forest creatures need onea these,” he grumbles, shoving them all into his cooler.

He loses track of the days, after that, but when he stumbles out of the rickety mining elevator and out into the sun, it feels like weeks.

“Linus,” Rever calls across the lake near the shimmering stone, “What day is it?”

“Did you knock yourself down again?” Linus shouts back.

Rever shakes his head and stomps across the bridge to Linus. “No, just camping. Damn, it’s bright up here.” He brings one hand to cover his eyes. “Ain’t the fifteenth, is it?”

“Twelf,” Linus says hesitantly.

“Praise Yoba,” Rever says. “Want a crystal fruit?”

“Sure.”

As Rever rummages around in his backpack, he asks; “Got the time?”

Linus takes the fruit when Rever offers it, offering a smile in return. “Never do. Thanks, Rever.”

Rever trudges back to the farm, fish and stone and tools slowing his speed considerably. Zombie secures herself to his side the moment he steps onto his own property. He reaches down to run his cold fingers through her fur, and she purrs. "Elliott?" He hollers across the lake. "Elliott, you still here?"

The lake stays silent. The river rushes behind them.

"You shouldn't be out in the cold," he tells Zombie. He scoops her up and she cries, pawing at his backpack where the ghostfish sit. "Let's go, girl."

He takes Zombie back into the cold cabin and doesn't bother taking off his boots when he runs himself a glass of water, already deciding what to pack up, what to sell, and what to prepare for the altar.

The junimo take one of the ghostfish, swarming the second he sets foot into the community center. He offers them a mushroom he'd found, a huge purple one with a sweet aroma he can't place, and two of them take it gingerly. By the time he’s finished the sun has set and he aches for his own bed, but he figures someone other than Linus should know he made it home. Rever sighs and stomps down through town, the snow muting Pelican Town into a movie set.

There’s a light on, of course, in Elliott’s cabin. Rever steps over the driftwood and raps sharply on the window, startling Elliott from his seat at the writing desk. He waves Rever over to the door.

“I see you made it back home,” Elliott says.

“Sleepin’ down there was hell,” Rever says. “Just wanted to tell you I didn’t die. Folks here get so testy when someone goes down those mines.”

“With reason, Rever,” Elliott stresses. “In anycase, I’m glad you’re home. Before the night market, too.”

“Have a personal invite,” Rever says, “Not like I could miss.”

“That you do.”

“Walked past the saloon on m’way down here,” Rever says, “Heard someone say somethin’ about a mermaid show. Friend of yours?”

“Oh, go home,” Elliott laughs. “Get some rest. I don’t know any other merpeople, anyway.”

“Sure, you say that now, ‘til a paramour shows up with a traveling market all romantic like your novels an’ tries to sweep you off your feet.”

“Well, I’d have to put him out of his misery, if one did,” Elliott says, and it’s light, but he looks pointedly at Rever. “I believe I'm otherwise spoken for.”

“You’re on that, again?” Rever cries. “Forgive an old fisherman not knowin’ how to talk about romance,” Elliott’s face falls, slightly. “Can’t keep teasin’ forever.”

“You’re hardly old, Rever. If you are, I am.”

“Maybe,” Rever says. “Anyhow, oughtta start processin’ some of those ores. I’ll leave ya be. Have a good night, Elliott.”

Rever takes the long way through the woods back home, and when he gets there, forgoes ore processing for stripping in the bathroom and settling in under the warm spray. It loosens his joints after days of sleeping underground, and if he felt the cold the way humans do, he’d stay under the spray until it turned. As it is, however, he pumps soap into his palm and runs it through the hair stuck greasy to his forehead.

Something had been wrong with Elliott. He’d been cordial enough, and nothing felt off, necessarily, but he’d looked upset at something Rever said, and he couldn’t put his fingers on what. Was it the mermaid paramour? No, because he'd joked about that. Rever scrubs the dirt out of his hair and lets his head hang under the water, the blue of his hair running in rivers with the water from the showerhead. Elliott had been fine - that is, until he said he was spoken for.

"Shit," Rever hisses, pulling his head out of the water. He scrambles for the knob and twists, shutting the water off before it has a chance to run cold, and in the relative silence of the bathroom, the sound of water on porcelain rings. _Should have said something_ , Rever thinks. _Should have congratulated him_. Too late tonight. Talk to 'im at the market.

In the morning his muscles ache, adjusting to the comfort of his grandfather’s old mattress as opposed to the floors of caves, but he kicks himself out of bed with minimal effort. Zombie begs at his feet, and he drops her some fish for morning meal.

He’s tying his boots on the porch when the fence creaks and someone’s feet thud down into the snow. A young woman pads through the snow, mail sack over her shoulder. “Oh,” She says when she hits the porch, “Good morning, farmer Rever.”

“Ain’t much of a farmer, but g’mornin’,” he says. “Who’re you?”

“I’m - Abigail? Pierre’s daughter?”

“Pierre?”

She scowls. “I’m late with the mail, sorry. Try meeting some people around here sometime.” She digs through her bag, purple hair falling out from underneath her hat. She produces a couple of letters - one from the mayor about the night market, one from his shipment company, and one from Willy. “I like your altar, by the way. I thought your farm was haunted, but I haven’t seen anything lately.”

“Haunted?”

Abigail tucks her hair back up under her cap. “Y’know,” She says casually, “I’m friends with Robin and Demetrius’ son. He says you came around talking about a merman last fall.”

“Used to have one.”

“Was it the guy at the beach?”

Rever scowls. “His business to talk, not mine. You want some coffee before you go?”

He wasn’t going to make any, but she smiles and boards up onto the porch and asks about the shrine on the farthest island, so it’s seven by the time he even gets out to the ore shed, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“ _A stoker ain’t a stoker with a shovel anymore_!”

By the time the sun sets, he's refined all his iron into bars and used the majority of his coal, and he's smeared with dirt to his hairline.

Willy's letter sits on the porch. "Well," he tells Zombie instead of opening it. "Might 's well just meet 'im at the Stardrop."

He doesn't see the point in cleaning up to stomp through the snow, so he doesn't, but he shoves his hands in a pile by the river and wipes them on his jeans, trying to get some of the coal off, and then he takes Zombie inside for the night and heads out up the hill.

The sun sets the tone of the valley into a picturesque sort of quiet before he even makes his way into town, a silence he loves, broken only by the distant sound of water and the glaring life of the Stardrop saloon. Rever had never entered: it was a lot of sound and smell and light for him, and he's only recently been able to handle a lot of that at once. Sometimes Willy's mere presence is still a little overwhelming. Still, the atmosphere is inviting, and the cold threatens to clamp down on his fingertips and nose, so he cracks the door before it sinks its teeth in.

The Stardrop is warm, but it's not as dead as he thought it would be: half of the town seems to be here, even if he can't quite name them, and Willy sits with the blacksmith by the door. He makes his way to them, glad the blacksmith is as dirty as he is.

"Willy," Rever says, warm and quiet.

"Rever!" Willy says. "Didn't know you came out here, lad."

"Don't," he says, and he takes a seat beside Willy and waves to the blacksmith. Clint doesn't acknowledge either of them, instead staring longingly at the bar. "Saw yer letter. Figured you'd be here to talk instead."

"Settle in, lad. Have a beer." Willy pushes his own mug toward him.

"No," Rever says, and Willy pulls it back. Alcohol doesn't mix well with Rever. He learned young that above average durability was the trade-off for sobriety. "What was yer letter for?"

"I have a proposition I think you'll be keen on," Willy says, voice slow and deep. The saloon is loud, but Rever hones in as much as he can.

"Alright."

"I'm sailin' out this spring, Rever, for a month-long fishing trip across the Gem Sea. I'd like you to join me."

Rever's eyes widen. "Sailing? For a month?"

"Sure, son. I know you said you'd never been to sea, but you're a trustworthy man and an excellent angler. I'd like to give you a shot on the water."

"Willy," Rever breathes, "of course, absolutely. There's a few things need sorting through before we set sail, but-"

Willy swats the air. "Aye, son. Sort out yer affairs, talk to your partner. Couldn't ask you to leave with no warning. You've got a few weeks time, anyway."

"Oh," Rever says, "No, there's no partner."

Willy grins then, huge and knowing. "No? Well then, son, maybe you should get talkin' to yer merman. Anyway, like I said, you have time. Just let me know by next Wednesday if you plan on makin' it, yeah?"

"Yeah," Rever says, breathless, "Of course. Thank you. Wednesday night. Count on it, er, captain."

Willy chuckles from the back of his throat. "Ain't on the boat yet, son."

"Right," Rever says, and his voice is as flustered as he feels. "Did you say - talk to my merman?"

"Sure, son, before the spring at least. It eats you up, even if you don't think it will." Willy claps Rever on the back, warm, dry hands lingering. "You look tired. Thanks f'r meetin' me here."

"Sure," Rever says, "anytime."

Rever doesn't get a chance to talk to Elliott before the Night Market. There's too much to do before spring. He has to finish reworking his proposal with Demetrius, make sure his honeybees are looked after, and make sure Zombie is properly loved. She's a smart cat, she can fend for herself, but Rever can't imagine how she'd get if nobody was there with a warm heartbeat for her to curl up against. He's worried about his altar, too, left untended for a month- he'll have to pack something pocket-sized. If he asked, he's sure the mail girl would tidy up the altar at home for him. She's a girl with a respect for magic and the old ways.

When the seventeenth rolls around, Rever almost forgets. With only ten days until they set sail, he's completely preoccupied. He's late, skidding onto the pier around six, where Elliott is chatting amicably with a merchant selling coffee.

"Sorry," Rever says, taking the coffee the merchant hands him, "Been busy."

"Don't worry about it," Elliott says. "Glad you made it, anyhow. Did you come the last few days?"

"Been really busy," Rever says. "Should talk about that, soon." Elliott's coffee is still steaming, but he's halfway through it. "Wait long?"

"Kind of," Elliott admits, "I arrived when it started."

"Shit," Rever says, eyeing his own full mug, "Sorry, Elliott." Before Elliott can answer, Rever tips his head back, pouring his fresh coffee into his mouth. He sets the mug back down next to the merchant. "Thanks," he says. "Where do we start?"

"Well," Elliott says, "Ah- are you alright?"

"Temperatures don't bother me none," Rever says easily. He steps a little further up the pier, looking out at the other boats.

"Right. It's merchants, mostly. There's a painting seller, the mermaid show, and, ah, I trust you'll be ready for this one - the deep sea fishing submarine?"

"Deep-sea fishing?" Rever says. He doesn't quite succeed at keeping the excitement out of his voice. Elliott smiles.

"I figured. Here, it's this way." His hand, warm and sturdy, finds the small of Rever's back for just a moment to guide him. "You said you had something you wanted to talk about?"

"Yeah," Rever says, "in, ah, just a bit." Elliott looks like he wants to push, but doesn't. There isn't a line for the submarine, and Rever pushes his face against the glass like a child as they descend.

"Beautiful," Rever says. "Can't ever be too far from water," he says casually, his voice tinged with an excitement he doesn't usually show. "Feel so worn out, when I'm away."

Elliott steps a little closer. It's a romantic scene, the two of them in the dim lighting, alone save the captain paying them no mind. "I know what you mean."

"Hated livin' in the city all my life," Rever continues. "Grandad would have me 'n my cousins out in the summer, 'n they never listened to his songs 'n stories, not like I did. Gettin' away from the water makes me anxious. 's like I got mud in my veins. Dries up when I get too far away."

"Is that how you got the farm?"

"Probably, but ain't nobody knockin' down my door to get it back, so they can't notice."

The huge door on the floor opens, and Rever pulls a fishing pole from the rack beside them. "Did you wanna join?"

"I'm fine," Elliott says. "Not much of a fisherman."

"Suit yourself." Rever casts his line gently into the area, aiming for a pocket of air bubbles.

"I've got a bit of mud in my veins, myself," Elliott says. "It was a blessing while I was cursed."

"Ah-ha," Rever mutters. His bobber dips under, the end of his pole bending. He pulls back slowly and reels. Whatever's on the other end struggles for a moment until he pulls a beautiful black fish out of the water, teal glimmering on the edge of its fins. "boy howdy," Rever says, still to himself, "That's a midnight fish, right there. Ain't the best, certainly ain't the worst."

"Congratulations," Elliott says.

"Gonna give it to Willy. Think he'd like it."

The captain calls for their return to the surface, so Elliott takes Rever's fishing rod and hangs it back up on the rack. Rever looks more excited than Elliott's ever seen him with his midnight fish in his hands. "I got a chest up on the surface I can leave it in," Rever says. The ride, after that, is significantly quieter than it was on the way down, but Rever watches. He holds his slimy fish in his hand, and he watches the way the light hits Elliott as they ride back to the surface, watches the dim light that sharpens his features in shadow grow lighter, bluer. Rever remembers what Elliott had looked like when they met, with his bright, bright eyes and his sharp, sharp teeth. He'd been beautiful, but Rever stands by comparing him to Yoba.

When they reach the surface they thank the captain and Elliott takes a huge sigh of fresh air. "I've never been that close to the bottom of the ocean," he murmurs.

Elliott looked before Rever arrived, so Rever pokes around for himself, but only in passing. He and Elliott chat as they make their way across the short pier, trying to guess where the wares came from, where they'd be going next. It's Rever that boards the well-lit boat that sits empty on the other side of the dock, closer to the water. It's Rever that follows the thin planks up toward the boat further on the water with only a faded painting of a mermaid to advertise it. He nudges Elliott. "Want to see?"

"To clarify," Elliott says, pulling the colossal metal door, "Not a former partner."

Rever snorts. The inside of the Mermaid boat is also dimly lit, and they wait for the curtain to rise. "Speakin' of," Rever says, shifting on his feet. He shoves his hands into his pockets and immediately takes them back out to fuss with his sleeves. "Was gonna congratulate you on your new boyfriend tonight."

"Oh, Rever,"

"But ah, met with Willy last night. Now 'm kinda thinkin' that was off the mark."

"Rever," Elliott says. It comes out of his mouth more like a groan. "I apologise. You kissed me and I just. I assumed the most."

"Can't blame you," Rever says. "This is a date, ain't it?"

Elliott swallows. When he speaks, his tone is even. "That was my intention, if you wanted it. Rever, if you don't, that's alright. I wouldn't hold it against you."

Music wells and the curtains open to reveal a woman in a mermaid tail, the validity of which Rever can't quite tell. His hand finds his way into Elliott's, his fingers slipping easily into the grooves. Elliott squeezes, ever so slightly, and Rever's quick to return the gesture. When the show ends and the curtain closes, Rever doesn't let go.

"What an odd show," Elliott says.

Rever laughs as they step back into the dark. Nearly ten o' clock, now. Where'd the festival gone? "Really think you should travel like this," he says. "You'd be great at a merman show."

"Most definitely," Elliott agrees easily. "You've read my books, now imagine a live reading? Completely changes the experience."

"See? Be a travelin' performer. We could travel together, then."

Elliott raises an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Willy invited me on a fishin' trip," Rever says hesitantly. He loosens his fingers in Elliott's, but doesn't let go. "Starts this spring. We'd get back in the summer, fall if everythin' went real well." He hops the inch off the plank they'd been walking onto the boat without a merchant. "Never been more excited in my life."

"Congratulations!" Elliott says, somewhat wistfully. "To travel by sea, I could never imagine. All the stories!"

"Smell of fish, mostly," Rever snorts. " 'magine it won't be glamorous."

"Even still."

"Yeah," Rever says. "Anyway, 'm gonna go with 'im. I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Leavin' like this," Rever says. The market has more or less dwindled down to tired-looking merchants. The one giving out coffee earlier is walking between them all, offering cups to their colleagues. The traveler's pig has one in its raft. "Feel like it's toyin' you along."

"It's a month or two at most," Elliott says. "Hardly an impasse. Of course I'll miss you, but I miss you not living out of your river."

"Ain't used to really givin' a shit what other folks are up to," Rever starts, "but I'll miss you, too."

Weeks pass of sitting together on the pier, or in Elliott's house, or Rever's, one always managing to find the other even when they're busy. Elliott agrees to come look after Zombie ("She's a beautiful cat, I'd love to come visit her,") and Rever hires Leah to look after the honeybees, under Elliott's suggestion. Demetrius assures him that they can talk about the hydroelectronic capabilities of the farm when Rever returns, and all that's left is to leave. He sets his altar up for spring with a pale yellow table runner and a bowl of seeds in the center, hand-carved with leaves in the wood. Hopefully nothing would steal it while he was away.

Willy, Elliott, and Rever are on the beach packing up Willy's sloop at five AM on the first of spring. It's a modest ship, but a far cry from the worn rowboat that sits dead by Elliott's cabin, and almost everyone points it out, much to Elliott's chagrin. He's significantly sleepier than Rever and Willy, his hair pulled into the loose bun he wears inside his cabin.

("That's a damn dirty trick," Rever'd mumbled from his place in Elliott's bed. "Tryin' to get me not to leave."

"How?" Elliott said, but he grinned, laying a soft kiss to Rever's forehead. "I'll still look like this when you get back."

"Damned right you will.")

So far it's just Willy and Rever going, but Willy says they'll probably run into other folks he's met when they run ashore. Rever, despite his inexperience, picked up quickly on the mechanics Willy had tried to walk him through the night before, and they ready the ship in an hour or so.

"Alright, boy," Willy says, patting the side of the ship. "We're ready."

Rever nods and hops off the side to meet Elliott on the pier. "Don't finish yer book without me," he says. "Couldn't miss yer first public reading in years."

"It's already mostly done," Elliott says sheepishly, "I brought you an early copy, if you wanted. It won't get published until after you're back." He holds out a small parcel of tightly wrapped packaging. "In case you have free time."

"Thanks, Elliott." Rever says. As the sun rises, it catches the green in Elliott's eyes. Rever takes one hand and squeezes it before leaning up to kiss him. "Okay," he says. "Gotta go. See you in Summer. Write when I can." Rever pauses for just a second before he leans back up for another kiss. "Okay. Give Zombie my heart." he says, before he drops Elliott's hand and hops back over the side of the boat.

They pull away from the pier without much fuss.

"Alright, skipper," Willy says when they've settled. "Start a song."

"Got a few softer ones from ol' grandad."

"Just any'll do."

Rever thinks for a second before he begins. " _Blow the winds hi-ho, a roving I will go..._ "

**Author's Note:**

> Songs in order are:
> 
> Desert Pete/ Kingston Trio  
> Barrett's Privateers/ Stan Rogers  
> Beat Me Daddy Eight to the Bar/ The Andrews Sisters (instrumental)  
> The Last Shanty/ Celtic Connection  
> Ten Thousand Miles Away/ Dan Milner


End file.
